For saying nothing; when I am very sure
If they should speak, would almost damn those ears
which hearing them would call their brothers fools,
I’ll tell thee more of this another time.
But fish not with this melancholy bait
For this fool gudgeon, this opinion:
Come good Lorenzo,
fare ye well a while,
I’ll end my exhortation after dinner.
Lorenzo. Well, we will leave you then till dinner time.
I must be one of these same dumb wise men,
For Graziano never lets me speak—
Graziano. Well keep me company but two years more
Thou shalt not know the sound of thine own tongue.
Antonio. Fare you well, I’ll grow a talker for this gear.
Graziano. Thanks i'faith, for silence is only commendable
In a neat’s tongue dried, and a made not vendible.
Exeunt.
Antonio. Is that anything now?
Bassanio. Graziano speaks an infinite deal of nothing more than any
man in all Venice, his reasons are as two grains of wheat hid in
two bushels of chaff: you shall seek all day ere you find them,
and when you have them, they are not worth the search.
Antonio. Well, tell me now, what Lady is the same
To whom you swore a secret pilgrimage
That you today promised to tell me of?
Bassanio. 'Tis not unknown to you, Antonio,
How much I have disabled mine estate,
By something showing a more swelling port
Then my faint means would grant continuance:
Nor do I now make moan to be abridged
From such a noble rate; but my chief care
Is to come fairly of from the great debts
wherein my time something too prodigal,
Hath left me gaged. To you, Antonio,
I owe the most in money and in love,
And from your love I have a warranty
To unburden all my plots and purposes
How to get clear of all the debts I owe.
Ant.